-
Sweet is every sound, sweeter the voice, but every sound is sweet.
Alfred Lord Tennyson -
Silence, beautiful voice.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
-
You, methinks you think you love me well; For me, I love you somewhat; rest: and Love Should have some rest and pleasure in himself, Not ever be too curious for a boon, Too prurient for a proof against the grain Of him ye say ye love: but Fame with men, Being but ampler means to serve mankind, Should have small rest or pleasure in herself, But work as vassal to the larger love, That dwarfs the petty love of one to one.
Alfred Lord Tennyson -
The bearing and the training of a child Is woman's wisdom.
Alfred Lord Tennyson -
Rain, rain, and sun! A rainbow in the sky!
Alfred Lord Tennyson -
And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech.
Alfred Lord Tennyson -
The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Alfred Lord Tennyson -
As she fled fast through sun and shade The happy winds upon her play'd, Blowing the ringlet from the braid.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
-
I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.
Alfred Lord Tennyson -
He that wrongs a friend Wrongs himself more, and ever bears about A silent court of justice in his breast, Himself the judge and jury, and himself The prisoner at the bar ever condemned.
Alfred Lord Tennyson -
I came in haste with cursing breath, And heart of hardest steel; But when I saw thee cold in death, I felt as man should feel. For when I look upon that face, That cold, unheeding, frigid brown, Where neither rage nor fear has place, By Heaven! I cannot hate thee now!
Alfred Lord Tennyson -
One so small Who knowing nothing knows but to obey.
Alfred Lord Tennyson -
I can't be anonymous by reason of your confounded photographs. (To Julia Margaret Cameron)
Alfred Lord Tennyson -
The wind sounds like a silver wire, And from beyond the noon a fire Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher The skies stoop down in their desire; And, isled in sudden seas of light, My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight, Bursts into blossom in his sight.
Alfred Lord Tennyson